af hverju er ég svona mikill sökker fyrir dýrahúmor!

mhm

Dinner AND a show

Ef maður fer á Aktu Taktu í Fellsmúla fær maður nánast alltaf dinner AND a show.

Fyrst þegar við fórum þangað lögðum við bílnum til móts við götuna og söxuðum í okkur. Kemur þá ekki róni og vindur sér upp að bílnum og bankar á rúðuna. Með handapati spyr hann mig hvort ég vilji ekki bara gefa honum matinn. Ég hélt ekki og hló að honum. Hann var nefnilega hress og brosti bara enda vissi hann að þetta var absúrd beiðni. Hey, líttu á mig, er ÉG líklegur til að gefa frá mér mat!

Svo fórum við einhvern tíman þarna aftur og lögðum í bílastæðin sem eru til móts við Khumo dekkjarverkstæðið. Það var gæji sem var svo rosalega mikið að éta matinn sinn að við stoppuðum og fylgdumst með honum. Hann var að rífa þetta í sig og við hlógum og hlógum að þessu villidýri. Vorum í bílnum við hliðina á honum en hann var svo niðursokkinn í þetta að hann sá ekkert nema hamborgarann sinn. Við gátum svo loks byrjað að borða þegar hann var farinn.

Fórum svo í kvöld og lögðum til móts við Khumo. Sáum allt í einu þar inni gæja sem var með allskonar látbragðsleik. Hann lagði hendur að höfði sér eins og hann trúði ekki sínum eigin augun. Við vorum instanlí komin með sýningu.

Gæjinn var pottþétt Ítali því við vissum ekki hvort hann eða hendurnar á honum voru ósáttari við það sem var að gerast.

Hvað VAR að gerast?

Ég hélt/vonaði instantlí að það væru yfirvofandi hópslagsmál í nánd útaf aggresífum viðskiptavini sem neitaði að borga rándýran reikning.

Beta vonaði ekki.

Við reyndum eftir fremsta megni að lesa í viðbrögð fólks sem þarna voru inni með ítalanum. Hann arkaði fram og tilbaka, bendandi á eitthvað. Við kláruðum að borða og rúntuðum svo inn á planið hjá þeim til að komast nær. Ég sendi Betu út í dulargervi til að fara þarna inn og spurja þá hvað eitt dekk fyrir yaris myndi kosta. Að sjálfsögðu til þess eins að hlera.

Þeir voru nýbúnir að loka.

Fokk!

Við þóttumst eitthvað vera að gera í bílnum til að kaupa okkur tíma. Loks sáum við hann nálgast bíl og benda á lakkið. Það virðist vera sem að einhver starfsmaður hafi óvart rispað bílinn hans.

Ekkert merkilegt svo sem. Eitt af þessum dæmum þar sem ferðalagið er meira spennandi en áfangastaðurinn.

En ég mæli með Aktu Taktu í Fellsmúla

Sebastian

Drengurinn fór í klippingu í morgun og bað um töffaraklippingu. Fór þaðan gelaður út með sleikjó og piparköku. Hann er klárlega sigurvegari.

Ricky Gervais skrifar um sannleikann

Eftirfarandi texti var tekinn af http://blogs.wsj.com/speakeasy/2010/12/19/a-holiday-message-from-ricky-gervais-why-im-an-atheist/

Ég bara gat ekki annað en póstað þessu öllu því ég er ávallt hrifinn af vel skrifuðum sannleika.

Why don’t you believe in God? I get that question all the time. I always try to give a sensitive, reasoned answer. This is usually awkward, time consuming and pointless. People who believe in God don’t need proof of his existence, and they certainly don’t want evidence to the contrary. They are happy with their belief. They even say things like “it’s true to me” and “it’s faith”. I still give my logical answer because I feel that not being honest would be patronizing and impolite. It is ironic therefore that “I don’t believe in God because there is absolutely no scientific evidence for his existence and from what I’ve heard the very definition is a logical impossibility in this known universe”, comes across as both patronizing and impolite.

Arrogance is another accusation. Which seems particularly unfair. Science seeks the truth. And it does not discriminate. For better or worse it finds things out. Science is humble. It knows what it knows and it knows what it doesn’t know. It bases its conclusions and beliefs on hard evidence -­‐ evidence that is constantly updated and upgraded. It doesn’t get offended when new facts come along. It embraces the body of knowledge. It doesn’t hold on to medieval practices because they are tradition. If it did, you wouldn’t get a shot of penicillin, you’d pop a leach down your trousers and pray. Whatever you “believe”, this is not as effective as medicine. Again you can say, “It works for me”, but so do placebos. My point being, I’m saying God doesn’t exist. I’m not saying faith doesn’t exist. I know faith exists. I see it all the time. But believing in something doesn’t make it true. Hoping that something is true doesn’t make it true. The existence of God is not subjective. He either exists or he doesn’t. It’s not a matter of opinion. You can have your own opinions. But you can’t have your own facts.

Why don’t I believe in God? No, no no, why do YOU believe in God? Surely the burden of proof is on the believer. You started all this. If I came up to you and said, “Why don’t you believe I can fly?” You’d say, “Why would I?” I’d reply, “Because it’s a matter of faith”. If I then said, “Prove I can’t fly. Prove I can’t fly see, see, you can’t prove it can you?” You’d probably either walk away, call security or throw me out of the window and shout, ‘’F—ing fly then you lunatic.”

This, is of course a spirituality issue, religion is a different matter. As an atheist, I see nothing “wrong” in believing in a god. I don’t think there is a god, but belief in him does no harm. If it helps you in any way, then that’s fine with me. It’s when belief starts infringing on other people’s rights when it worries me. I would never deny your right to believe in a god. I would just rather you didn’t kill people who believe in a different god, say. Or stone someone to death because your rulebook says their sexuality is immoral. It’s strange that anyone who believes that an all-­‐powerful all knowing, omniscient power responsible for everything that happens, would also want to judge and punish people for what they are. From what I can gather, pretty much the worst type of person you can be is an atheist. The first four commandments hammer this point home. There is a god”, I’m him, no one else is, you’re not as good and don’t forget it. (Don’t murder anyone, doesn’t get a mention till number 6.)

When confronted with anyone who holds my lack of religious faith in such contempt, I say, “It’s the way God made me.”

But what are atheists really being accused of?

The dictionary definition of God is “a supernatural creator and overseer of the universe”. Included in this definition are all deities, goddesses and supernatural beings. Since the beginning of recorded history, which is defined by the invention of writing by the Sumerians around 6000 years ago, historians have cataloged over 3700 supernatural beings, of which 2870 can be considered deities.

So next time someone tells me they believe in God, I’ll say “Oh which one? Zeus? Hades? Jupiter? Mars? Odin? Thor? Krishna? Vishnu? Ra?…” If they say “Just God. I only believe in the one God”, I’ll point out that they are nearly as atheistic as me. I don’t believe in 2,870 gods, and they don’t believe in 2,869.

I used to believe in God. The Christian one that is.

I loved Jesus. He was my hero. More than pop stars. More than footballers. More than God. God was by definition omnipotent and perfect. Jesus was a man. He had to work at it. He had temptation but defeated sin. He had integrity and courage. But He was my hero because He was kind. And He was kind to everyone. He didn’t bow to peer pressure or tyranny or cruelty. He didn’t care who you were. He loved you. What a guy. I wanted to be just like Him.

One day when I was about 8 years old, I was drawing the crucifixion as part of my Bible-­‐studies homework. I loved art too. And nature. I loved how God made all the animals. They were also perfect. Unconditionally beautiful. It was an amazing world.

I lived in a very poor, working-­‐class estate in an urban sprawl called Reading, about 40 miles west of London. My father was a laborer and my mother was a housewife. I was never ashamed of poverty. It was almost noble. Also, everyone I knew was in the same situation, and I had everything I needed. School was free. My clothes were cheap and always clean and ironed. And mum was always cooking. She was cooking the day I was drawing on the cross.

I was sitting at the kitchen table when my brother came home. He was 11 years older than me, so he would have been 19. He was as smart as anyone I knew, but he was too cheeky. He would answer back and get into trouble. I was a good boy. I went to church and believed in God – what a relief for a working-­‐class mother. You see, growing up where I did, mums didn’t hope as high as their kids growing up to be doctors; they just hoped their kids didn’t go to jail. So bring them up believing in God and they’ll be good and law abiding. It’s a perfect system. Well, nearly. 75 percent of Americans are God-­‐fearing Christians; 75 percent of prisoners are God-­‐fearing Christians. 10 percent of Americans are atheists; 0.2 percent of prisoners are atheists.

But anyway, there I was happily drawing my hero when my big brother Bob asked, “Why do you believe in God?” Just a simple question. But my mum panicked. “Bob” she said in a tone that I knew meant, “Shut up.” Why was that a bad thing to ask? If there was a God and my faith was strong it didn’t matter what people said.

Oh … hang on. There is no God. He knows it, and she knows it deep down. It was as simple as that. I started thinking about it and asking more questions, and within an hour, I was an atheist.

Wow. No God. If mum had lied to me about God, had she also lied to me about Santa? Yes, of course, but who cares? The gifts kept coming. And so did the gifts of my new found atheism. The gifts of truth, science, nature. The real beauty of this world. I learned of evolution – a theory so simple that only England’s greatest genius could have come up with it. Evolution of plants, animals and us – with imagination, free will, love, humor. I no longer needed a reason for my existence, just a reason to live. And imagination, free will, love, humor, fun, music, sports, beer and pizza are all good enough reasons for living.

But living an honest life – for that you need the truth. That’s the other thing I learned that day, that the truth, however shocking or uncomfortable, in the end leads to liberation and dignity.

So what does the question “Why don’t you believe in God?” really mean. I think when someone asks that; they are really questioning their own belief. In a way they are asking “what makes you so special? “How come you weren’t brainwashed with the rest of us?” “How dare you say I’m a fool and I’m not going to heaven, f— you!” Let’s be honest, if one person believed in God he would be considered pretty strange. But because it’s a very popular view it’s accepted. And why is it such a popular view? That’s obvious. It’s an attractive proposition. Believe in me and live forever. Again if it was just a case of spirituality this would be fine. “Do unto others…” is a good rule of thumb. I live by that. Forgiveness is probably the greatest virtue there is. Buts that’s exactly what it is -­‐ a virtue. Not just a Christian virtue. No one owns being good. I’m good. I just don’t believe I’ll be rewarded for it in heaven. My reward is here and now. It’s knowing that I try to do the right thing. That I lived a good life. And that’s where spirituality really lost its way. When it became a stick to beat people with. “Do this or you’ll burn in hell.”

You won’t burn in hell. But be nice anyway.

The greatest song in the world. A tribute.

Við leyfðum Sebas að vaka í heila tvo tíma lengur í gærkveldi til að fá að lúra meira frameftir í morgun.

Epic fail.

Hann vaknaði klukkutíma fyrr. Klukkan 6!

Vúaddafakk!

Við voða hress með þetta um kvöldið og vöktum lengur og allt. Til 2. Sem þýðir 4 tíma svefn hjá mér.

Ég fór fram úr með honum og skellti Toy Story 3 í tækið og staulaðist aftur inn. Svona gékk þetta frá klukkan 6. Ég setti mynd í, hún kláraðist, hann vakti mig, ég setti aðra mynd í tækið.

Fyrsta skiptið sem ég náði að sofna aftur dreymdi mig besta lag í heimi. Líklegt til að verða vinsælasta lag allra tíma. Ég man að ég ætlaði að reyna að vakna til að skrifa það niður eða eitthvað. Það, að sjálfsögðu, gerðist ekki og ég var búinn að gleyma því næst þegar ég vaknaði.

Ég mundi að það var Singapore Sling sem spiluðu undir hjá mér en ekkert meir.

Svo reyndi ég aftur að sofna til að muna lagið en allt sem ég fékk voru bara nokkrar hræðilegar alternative versjónir af laginu. Ekki góðar.

Ég gæti kannski bara samið svona nokkurskonar tribute lag eins og Tenacious D.

Allavega, er mjög svekktur því þetta lag var virkilega kúl.

listin að skreyta jólatré og brjóta enga jólakúlu

Jólatréið skreytt.

Engar jólakúlur voru skaðaðar í ferlinu en hið sama má ekki segja um eitt hreindýrið og einn Elvis kallinn.

Þeir eru núna á verkstæði jólasveinsins.

...og með verkstæði meina ég eldhúsborðið og með jólasveinn meina ég Beta.

Við erum náttla með mjög fjölbreyttar skreytingar á tréinu.

Fyrir utan kúlurnar og ljós eru fuglar, snjókorn, Elvis kallar, Friends jólakúla og eitt Súper Gay hreindýr sem Beta fékk í gjöf frá vinum sínum.

Það sem kraumaði undir til að gefa netta jólastemmingu var nýji diskurinn hans Sigurðar Guðmunds, Baggalútur og vel valin gömul jólalög.

Hressir. Sérstaklega gæjinn á sek 20

Fíla ,,dem" gæjann

early næntís myndir

Fór að hugsa málið eftir Wayne´s world í gær. Hvaða myndir var maður að horfa á in da early næntís?

Googlaði það.

Wayne´s World
Dazed and Confused
Boyz N da Hood
Menace II society
Trespass
New Jack City
Clueless
Braveheart
Forrest Gump
Tommy Boy
Dumb Dumber
A League of their own
Point Break
Speed
Dances With Wolves
Carlito's Way
Whats Eating Gilbert Grape
Thelma and Louise
Last of the Mohicans

Ég og Pétur vorum soldið í gangster myndunum.

Er örugglega að gleyma einhverjum klassíkerum.